


On a parallel path

by HedwigsTalons



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Alcohol, Casual Sex, College AU, Coming Out, Drug Use, Fear of Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Only One Bed, Snowboarding, SpaceBears, Underage Drinking, college ski trip, heavily influenced by skam, honestly its not as bad as it sounds, ticking off a few tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27998025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HedwigsTalons/pseuds/HedwigsTalons
Summary: Brandon invites Alan on the annual university snowboarding trip.  In the close confines of the chalet, and with a few days of hard partying ahead, the pair examine their feelings for each other.
Relationships: Alan Tracy/Brandon Berrenger
Comments: 15
Kudos: 21





	On a parallel path

**Author's Note:**

> This is very different to my usual writing in both style and content so if third person present tense isn't your thing, or the messier side of teenage life, don't be put off from trying my other fics (similarly, if this is your jam, you won't find much more like it among my current works). Those familiar with SKAM season 3 will spot more than a few parallels. I make no apologies for this. I binged. It was amazing.
> 
> The date format is American MM.DD.YY, I don't like it but the Tracy's are American so I ran with it. Times are in the 24 hour clock, HH:MM.

Friday 11:36  
11.07.64 

Once again his footsteps led him towards the society noticeboards, their bright colours, now mostly covered in pinned up flyers, posters, lists of meeting times, forming a riotous display outside the campus cafeteria. Of course he was only there to grab an early lunch. Of course. It didn’t matter that the lunch serving hadn’t started yet, he could just browse the boards while waiting for the doors to open, starting with the Afro-Caribbean Group and working his way slowly along towards the Zoroastrian Society. His being there had absolutely nothing to do with the ski and snowboard trip opening up spare places to non-members at midday. Absolutely nothing at all.

11:45 and there was already quite a crowd starting to gather outside the cafeteria doors, some clearly waiting for lunch while others had pens in hand, the University of Colorado end of semester ski trip was an event of legend after all. The large chalet up on Copper Mountain a regular booking for a few days of hedonism and pressed powder before the students headed home for Christmas. The snow was meant to be pretty decent too. He carried on his slow perusal of the boards, from A through to Z, trying to ignore the swelling numbers at the far end. He wasn’t really that keen for a place. He could get his board out any time he wanted; snow, surf, astro, the world and the solar system beyond it were his playgrounds.

11:50 and a shout raised his eyes from a poster on Cuban dance he had been studying, trying to distract himself from the swelling numbers in the lobby.

“Hey Alan, you’ll be coming, won’t you?” The familiar voice sent a tingle down his spine that he didn’t dare name. Brandon Berrenger, another first year like him but older, being a later entrant on the college scene, and of course an instant sign up to the snowboard society. Clearly some of the crowd at the far end were current members, waiting to see who would claim the final slots and make up the numbers. Only 5 spaces up for grabs. Not that Alan had been checking all week, it was pure coincidence his visits to the cafeteria were becoming more frequent as the members-only deadline ticked closer.

“Why? You think you’ll need me to make up the numbers? Looks like you’ve already got more than enough hopefuls.” 

It was true. There was a definite crowd that were starting to circle the board like vultures over a dying body. Glares as students tried to find the best position to subtly, or not so subtly, claim a space as soon as the clock hit 12 and the call for open-season was made.

“At least I know you can board, apparently last year one of the extras had never even set foot on a mountain before. Took a trip to the ER with a compound fracture before they admitted it.”

Alan winced, being all too familiar with broken bones through skin.

“So…..”, suddenly Brandon had a pen in his hand along with a sparkle in his eyes that always made Alan’s breath hitch a little, “do you want a space or not?”

“Sure,” he shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “Sounds like fun.”

A grin joined the sparkling eyes as Brandon added Alan’s name to the sheet in untidy scrawl, his blatant breach of the accepted protocol going unremarked by the other members who clearly afforded Brandon greater status than most first years would normally get. Evidently the Bear’s fame, charisma and notoriety gave him some leeway to break the rules. 

It probably helped that Alan himself had his own status and following. Various societies had tried to gain his patronage over the semester but he’d only graced the Astronomers with his presence so far, after all a Tracy at college had a lot to live up to and he daren’t let his grades slip. But once term ended perhaps he could relax and have a little fun. It was barely an extra week after all and it’s not like International Rescue hadn’t coped without him since September. The others were always telling him to make the most of student life, time to make some calls informing them that he intended to do just that; oh, and see if he could get his cold weather gear shipped over.

He left the lobby, lunch forgotten, the little tingle at the base of his spine making him immune to the black looks that he knew were being shot his way now that 5 spaces had been reduced to 4.

***

Tuesday 10:42  
12.09.64 

“Now listen up everyone, it’s house rules time.” 

The president of the Ski and Snowboard Society was holding court from atop a coffee table while the various other members of the group were squashed together on the couches and chairs that had been pulled into a rough arc around her.

Alan, crushed up against the arm of a couch designed for three but that was currently holding five was feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. It didn’t help that his lap was occupied by a second year English major called Amy, or was it Emily, who had flung herself there, an arm draped around his shoulder supposedly for balance. She’d already latched on to him on the bus on the way out and now he was feeling squashed in more ways than one.

“You’ve all coughed up your bond so that’s a good start, but let’s try and keep any breakage charges within the bond total this year.”

There was a range of whoops and cheers from those that had been on the trip previously and Alan was hit with the slightly uncomfortable realisation on why the bond, paid on top of the trip fee, had been so large. He was just glad Scott had relinquished trusteeship of his account once he’d hit eighteen; trying to explain why a few days on the slopes was costing such an eye watering amount would not have been a fun conversation. Evidently the rumours about ski trip were at least somewhat true and there was no way his brothers would approve with such debauchery. Well, Gordon might, would probably even cheer him on with a conspiratorial slap on the back. Scott had his fair share of history too, but that was all in the past and whatever Scott might have gotten up to when he was at college did not mean he would approve of his youngest brother and one time ward doing the same. And that was without adding the still fairly unknown entity of Dad into the mix.

“Slope passes can be collected from Marcus after the meeting,” she indicated the club secretary who waved a stack of cards at her in response. “Basic rule on the slopes is stick to your limits and no boarding after hours. I’m sending round a sign up sheet for the bedrooms, stick your name against one of the empty slots. If you don’t like what’s left when the sheet gets to you then tough, you can try and arrange swaps amongst yourselves, you aren’t in kindergarten any more.”

There were more snorts and callings out about the room allocations not meaning much once the party started. With that she jumped down from the table and claimed a rough room plan of the chalet from the ever prepared club secretary, scrawling her name in her chosen spot before sending it round the room. 

It felt like an eternity, waiting for the clipboard to reach him while the blonde on his lap giggled and flicked her hair in a way that he thought was meant to be endearing. He wasn’t even sure of her name for goodness sake. Being there as just an extra he was one of the last to be passed the room list and he wondered what he was going to end up with. The cabin rooms held a mix of 2, 3 and 4 beds and beyond Brandon he didn’t really know these people. He recognised some of them of course, a familiar face from his dorm block, another he thought he’d seen in the corridors of the Physics building, people he’d bumped into at campus parties, but none of them could be counted as friends. But this was his chance to make more friends, right? 

The arm around his shoulders was removed as the clipboard finally reached his end of the couch. Emily, yes he did check as she inked her name against one of the remaining slots, gave some little grumble about favouritism that didn’t really register until he tried to claim his own bed space.

Someone had beaten him to it. There, in the same untidy hand from the initial sign up list, was his name. He glanced up and received a small wave of acknowledgement from a figure sat on the floor, back leaning against another couch, at the other end of the arc.

Brandon. Ginger curls splaying out from under the ever present beanie and a wicked grin that Alan just couldn’t read.

“Couldn’t leave you to the tender mercies of this lot, could I?” 

The person sat behind Brandon gave a snort and whacked the back of his head, nearly dislodging the beanie. 

He looked down at the clipboard in his hands, his name clear for all to see, sharing a room with Brandon. A room that only had two spaces.

“Cheers, I just hope you don’t snore” he called back, trying to quell the butterflies that seemed to be having a party in his stomach and hoping the blush that he was sure was creeping up his body wasn’t yet visible. He also couldn’t help but wonder why the club president was giving him such a dirty look, it wasn’t his fault Brandon had such a disregard for protocol.

He’d been surprised to bump into Brandon, almost literally as they rounded a corner in opposite directions, at campus orientation, one off to a tour of the media suites, the other to find the science buildings. Of course the Bear had been hinting about big changes and a new project in his vlog but the idea of Brandon as a college student hadn’t occurred to Alan. To be honest it hadn’t occurred to him either until his Dad suggested it, but here they both were as first years at CU.

And here they both were, climbing the stairs to the second floor, holdalls in hand as the very short house meeting was brought to a close. He followed two steps behind, his eyes drawn to the slim waist and hips in front of him, leading him towards the bedroom they were to share.

He tried to work out what it all meant. It had felt like a good idea at the time, to sign up for the trip. Had he thought of signing up because he knew Brandon was going? Probably. But now that he was actually here he was starting to regret acting on his impulses. His eyes drifted lower to the swaying ass in front of him as they started climbing the second flight, causing him to swallow. He shouldn’t be looking at Brandon like that. They were friends. This was a bad idea.

Clear your head, Alan. Friends. That’s all they were and ever would be, just friends. And you don’t look at guys like that. Not you.

“So what’s the plan for the day?” he asked, trying to get his head back into more neutral territory.

“Get changed, hit the slopes,” the response came back as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, Brandon not turning as he continued his ascent to the upper floor. “Then when the lifts close we head back. Probably pick up some pizza from the main complex as we head past, then after that…” Brandon had reached the top of the stairs and turned to grin down at Alan, “after that, we party.”

Brandon continued to lead the way until he reached the last door on the right, the room he had claimed for them, and Alan followed him in. It was pretty spacious like most of the rooms in the chalet, and Brandon had somehow managed to bag them one of the few that had an en-suite, very handy when there were twenty of them making up the group. There were windows on two sides but the views weren’t much to speak of, one looking toward the next chalet and the other looking out over the access road. Not that Alan was bothered by the views, his attention was taken up by the beds. 

Or rather, bed. Singular.

“Uh, Brandon, you sure this is the right room?” he swallowed nervously.

Brandon seemed unphased by the prospect, instead just dumping his bag on a chair in the corner of the room before turning to face Alan.

“Sorry Al, I, uh, just assumed it would be a twin.” He gave the back of his neck a nervous little scratch before continuing, “I mean, if it’s a problem for you we can try and swap around if you want, but trust me having your own bathroom on one of these trips is a godsend.” 

“S’fine. Y’know, as long as you’re okay with it,” Alan stuttered, trying to play it cool and not let on just how much of a big deal he was finding this right now. “It’s not like I haven’t had to share with my brothers enough times over the years. You can’t be any worse than Gordon, so much for a squid, that guy is a damn starfish at night.”

Brandon let out a relieved little sigh coupled with a gentle snort. “Noted. When bunking down with a Tracy avoid those of the aquatic variety. So it’s not all plush suites when you lot go away?” His few interactions with the family had shown them to be a down to earth bunch but he was more than a little surprised that they had to share rooms even, let alone beds, so his curiosity was genuine.

“Sometimes, especially when it’s for something public, it’s kinda expected” Alan answered with a shrug. “But there’s a lot of us and even the penthouse isn’t always set up for that many. We like to stick together so just divide up what’s there. Add in the camping trips and I’ve woken up with someone else’s foot in my ear more times than I care to remember. You want the door side or the window?”

“Um, door?”

Alan gave a half nod of agreement and hauled his bag to the far side of the room, throwing it onto the window side of the bed. Brandon was already opening his own bag and rummaging around in it. He watched as Brandon dug out a wash kit and popped in the bathroom before finding his own and following suit. By the time he emerged Brandon was stripping off his travelling clothes.

“So, does everyone hit the slopes together or do we just head up in our own time?” Small talk. He could do this. And he knew Brandon had been on a few weekend trips to the mountain with the club so it made sense he would know the format. Absolutely nothing to do with trying to keep his mind and eyes off the half naked figure across the room who seemed to be having trouble locating his salopettes.

“Just go up when we’re ready. Everyone heads to different trails anyway, particularly the skiers, so there’s no point waiting around.” He wondered if stiffening in his shoulders had been visible because Brandon quickly amended his description. “I mean, not completely separate. People tend to team up with those of the same standard and it makes sense not to board alone. Look Al, I’m the one that invited you along so I’m not gonna just ditch you. Now suit up, slowcoach, the slopes are calling.”

Looking up the figure opposite was mercifully dressed but, possibly worse, now watching him expectantly. He pulled off his hoodie, feeling nervous in a way he’d never done before. Since when did he have body issues? Since it looked like he was going to be getting changed in front of Brandon Berrenger, that when. Deep breaths. They were sharing a room together. He was going to have to do this many times over the next few days. Incredibly conscious of those deep toffee eyes that felt like they never left him for a moment, he stripped down to his underwear and donned the suit Scott had sent over to him. 

***

Tuesday 16:17  
12.09.64

The afternoon on the slopes had been fun. A few had opted to tackle the runs but most of the group had chosen to congregate in the Peace Park freestyle area where the mix of features allowed for a fair amount of showing off. Alan was by no means the most competent with a board, he wouldn’t expect to be seeing as this wasn’t something he did regularly, but his natural fitness and balance coupled with the sheer amount of iR training he’d done over the years meant he could hold his own and not embarrass himself. Sure it was nothing like boarding in zero-g but he could pull off a few tricks.

As the light began to fade, and copious amounts of pizza had been consumed from one of the outlets in the Centre Village, the group made their way back to the chalet. The talk was turning to the upcoming opening night party and Alan began to feel the nerves building again. 

“So Alan.” He jumped slightly as he felt an arm slide through his and nearly dropped the board he was carrying on the other side. Emily. Whenever he turned around she seemed to have popped up behind him. “How do you and Brandon know each other? And why haven’t you joined the society, you handled yourself pretty well out there.”

“Uh…” he stalled. Most of the world knew he was part of International Rescue so either Emily was completely oblivious to that fact or Brandon hadn’t let his snow club buddies know about the incidents that had thrown them together. If that was the case he didn’t want to embarrass Brandon. He was spared the dilemma as an arm was slung around his shoulder from the other side, crushing his board against him, and the man himself chose to answer for him.

“Aww man, didn’t I ever tell you guys? Alan here like totally saved my life. Him and the dudes in blue got me out of an avalanche when a mountain decided she didn’t like me messing up her snow.”

“You’ve been scooped up by International Rescue? Now why does that not surprise me? You, Brandon, are a fucking liability,” the group president, whom Alan had learnt was called Rachel, snorted.

“Twice actually,” there was a smug grin, if Brandon was going to come out of this with a reputation he was going to wear it like a badge of honour, “but I got Scotty the first time. Y’know, Thunderbird One. I only met Al here second time around.”

“Actually, I’ll think you’ll find you got Scott, Virgil and Kayo the first time then me, Scott and Virg the second. You're a pretty resource heavy rescue. Y’know, I couldn’t tell Scott you were on this trip or he probably wouldn’t have let me come, he gets more grey hairs just from hearing your name.”

“Your brother gets a say in your vacations?” There was an incredulous note in Rachel’s voice bordering on derision, as though she couldn’t quite believe it Alan would have to clear stuff with his family first like a child.

“Well, yeah, he is still the Commander after all and he’s been my boss since I was, what, fourteen. It’s not like I have your average sort of day job.” he countered. He hadn’t really wanted to bring up his International Rescue role, had wanted to be viewed as a person in his own right rather than as iR operative, but Rachel’s superior attitude irked him considering he’d been out saving the world from an age when her main worries had been grade school. “I was meant to be back on duty today but the guys agreed they could cope without me a bit longer. Okay Gords threatened to take Three up if she was needed this week but it’s not much of a threat, he’d be fine. I mean, he’s no astronaut, but we’re all trained on everything and do take each other’s craft out when needed."

He jutted out his chin slightly, daring Rachel to try another put down, but she just gave a little half nod half shrug of acceptance. “That’s cool. Just do me and the world a favour; next time that idiot calls for help can you leave him there.”

“Ah Rach, you wound me.” The arm around Alan’s shoulder was removed as Bradon made an overdramatic clutch at his heart. “I know you love me really.”

“Yeah, whatever Brandon.” She rolled her eyes in response. 

***

Tuesday 21:34  
12.09.64

The music was starting to thud through the chalet as Alan waited for his turn in the shower. Up on the second floor the noise was slightly muted but it sounded like those who were quickest at getting ready were already enjoying themselves. He lay on the bed, arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, until the sound of the bathroom door made him sit up.

“Your turn. Aren’t you roasting in that get up?” Brandon waved vaguely at the blue suit Alan was still wearing. 

He’d napped when they got back to the chalet, the pizza making him all warm and sleepy after his first snow session in a while coupled with the early start for the bus, and getting changed hadn’t felt like a priority. By the time Brandon reappeared from wherever he’d gone and nudged him awake it was time to think about the opening party. It promised to be pretty big seeing as a group from Denver Tech had been spotted on the slopes and invited along too.

“Not really, it’s the same stuff as my uniform so pretty good in all temperatures,” he said, standing up and grabbing his towel off the top of his bag. “Besides, it didn’t make sense to put fresh clothes on before hitting the shower.”

“Suppose so. S’not like you could fit anything underneath even if you wanted to.” Brandon’s eyes raked up and down him in a way that made Alan suddenly feel very self-conscious as to just how figure hugging his suit was. “Best not tell Emily you have to go commando or she’ll be camped outside the door, she’s got such a thing for you.” 

Up on the mountain it had felt the most normal thing in the world to be back in iR technology. The suit Scott has sent over wasn’t uniform but pretty similar, it was still comfort rated to near enough absolute zero and didn’t need additional layers. It was shaped to his form for ease of movement and fitted him as closely as the matching gloves it came with. Now he was starting to wish he had slightly more traditional ski wear.

“I’d noticed. And I do not go commando as well you know so don’t you even think of telling her that.”

Of course he’d noticed Emily, he’d have to be blind not to. But he was not blind which meant that what was filling his vision right now was Brandon. A Brandon who was stood there with nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips, drops of water starting to trickle down his chest from his still wet hair. He swallowed slightly and adjusted how he was holding his own towel before striding past to the bathroom, head down and gaze averted.

“Just go down when you’re ready, don’t feel you need to wait for me,” he called back after reaching the sanctuary of the en-suite, hoping the choke in his voice wasn’t noticeable.

Once the door was safely locked behind him he took a deep breath and shucked his suit. He didn’t, he couldn’t feel anything for Brandon in that way. He couldn’t risk their friendship over some silly crush. He needed to get over it and get over it fast.

One thing the chalet seemed to have in plentiful supply was hot water and for that he was eternally grateful. He stood there under the cleansing stream for far longer than was necessary, hoping the scalding, stinging drops could wash away the thoughts of those curls, that smile, that laugh, trying to judge when it would be safe to emerge. 

Shutting the water off he paused and listened at the bathroom door. He couldn’t hear anything from the other side but he dragged it out another couple of minutes anyway by drying his hair and cleaning his teeth. 

Another pause. Another listen. A moment to check that his towel was firmly in place and to regret that he hadn’t taken his clothes in with him until he couldn’t put it off any longer. He stepped out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom that was, mercifully, empty.

***

Tuesday 23:52  
12.09.64 

It was a party like no other Alan had ever been to before. The music thudded loud enough to hurt his eardrums and the press of bodies had been more than a little overwhelming to begin with, there were far more than the original 20 and it felt like half the student population of the state was squeezed into the chalet. If he thought he’d seen College parties before he was wrong, this was a world apart from anything he had experienced on campus. But, with a few drinks inside him, the world had taken on a fuzzy haze that made it all feel better. The only downside to the drink was the overwhelming urge to pee.

It was a slow shuffle through the jumping, swaying and grinding mess of humanity to try and locate the closest bathroom. Okay, not the closest bathroom. The sight of someone spilling their stomach contents into the sink as he pushed open the door nearly had him losing his own pizza and he didn’t envy whoever got landed with clean-up duty for that room. Perhaps Brandon was on to something after all, picking a room furthest away from all the action and with an en-suite. 

There was obviously no other reason. If he’d thought Brandon’s inclusion of him on the slopes was going to extend to the party he’d been sorely mistaken. He’d been left to his own devices to get to know the crowd as Brandon made out with Rachel in a display that would have made people blush. Except nobody did blush. It seemed that latching on to the closest body and devouring them like a drowning man gasping for oxygen was the order of the day. On the stairs, in the kitchen, in the hallways; people were hooking up everywhere as if sharing body fluids with a virtual stranger was obligatory.

Oxygen itself seemed to be in short supply too. Half those there seemed to be smoking something. A fog hazed over the dancing hoard and the stench of tobacco and weed assaulted his nostrils. 

The upper hallway was slightly emptier and he soon reached the sanctuary of his room which was blessedly empty, it’s bathroom as yet untrashed and he hoped it stayed that way. As he washed his hands the visage that stared back at him from the mirror was flushed from a few more beers than usual but otherwise wasn’t too off balance. A moment more to readjust his hair and he stiffened at the unmistakable sound of the bedroom door opening.

Breath held. Pause. Listen. Wondering, hoping, that Brandon had come to seek him out. A giggle. Female. Not Brandon. Of course it wasn’t Brandon. Why would he even want Brandon to come looking for him? Exit the bathroom. Two heads whip round. Another giggle drifts after his retreating back as he makes a swift exit away from the unknown couple fucking on his bed. He needs another drink, and fast.

The kitchen is as crowded as ever as he forces his way over to the counter and the array of bottles that shows where a lot of the trip funds went. He sticks to beer, decides to play it safe rather than investigate the liquor that’s leaving sticky rings on the table. A hand on his shoulder pauses him mid bottle-crack, the lid half popped.

“Hey, it’s Alan, right?” 

Marcus. Club secretary and provider of lift passes. A face he recognised. A nod as he flicks the bottle cap towards the trash can.

“Nice board you got.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Is it a custom build? I didn’t recognise the style.”

“Yeah, uh, was a birthday present a couple years back.” The conversation seemed pretty normal but there was something a little unnerving about Marcus. A little unfocussed. The gaze centred on something unseen over his left shoulder.

“Sweet, sweet. So, uh, you want anything you just ask. Okay?”

There’s suddenly a small bag of pills in the hand that’s half withdrawn from Marcus’ pocket. A mix of loose discs and parts of blister packs that has his EMT training screaming at him that this is a disaster waiting to happen.

“I’m good, thanks.” It’s more of a squeak but Marcus doesn’t seem to notice, just nods as he passes on to slap an arm round the shoulders of someone that Alan thinks is part of their group but can’t be certain. 

Beer in hand he exits the kitchen, back into the dark and sweaty lounge, losing himself to the thumping beat and flashing lights. It’s a party after all. Marcus isn’t his problem and he hopes he never will be.

***  
Wednesday 01:57  
12.10.64

The thud of the door bouncing off the wall rouses him from an uneasy sleep, signalling Brandon’s exit from the party rather later than his own. Ordinarily he would have been dead to the world moments after hitting the pillow but a combination of first night nerves and rather more beer than he would usually indulge in meant that the last hour or so had been spent tossing this way and that under the covers. Oh why couldn’t he be one of those lucky people that were out for the count after a few drinks?

He listens as Brandon fills a glass of water from the bathroom tap, there’s a pause presumably while Brandon drinks it, then the sound of the glass being refilled. Footsteps draw near the bed, the glass is set down ready for the morning, then there’s the rustle of clothes being discarded and thrown to the floor. He wishes he’d had the forethought to set some water ready for the morning but he daren’t move now, suddenly feeling very naked despite being still clad in boxers and t-shirt.

The mattress creaks and shifts as Brandon settles down beside him. The movement sends his head into a spin and he tries to blame it on the beer except it’s not that sort of spin. He’s not sure he can do this. Pull yourself together, Tracy; it’s late, you’re tired, that’s all there is to it. Even so he keeps deadly still, breathing deep and modulated in a parody of sleep, all the while listening intently for the telltale signs that Brandon has drifted off. It feels like an eternity and he wonders if Brandon knows he is awake, knows he is faking to avoid having to say anything but eventually the other figure rolls to face the wall and the gentle, snuffling snores of the intoxicated fills the room.

He’s not sure when he finally dropped off again but it must have happened because the first thing he registers is the dim light of early dawn showing through the gap where he failed to fully close the curtains.

Actually, that’s not true. Yes it’s dawn, but the very first thing he registers as consciousness returns is the overwhelming urge to pee. Unfortunately that feeling is soon overridden by the fear inducing awareness that he is not alone. This is starkly evident from the arm that is thrown across him, rucking up the edge of his t-shirt so that the limb is resting on his exposed side, the fingers grazing his stomach. Brandon must be dreaming because the fingers twitch against him and his own body responds in a way that would have him blushing if the blood flow wasn’t currently being utilised elsewhere. 

He doesn’t want to disturb his bedfellow, would be mortified if Brandon saw the state he was in, but his bladder is still protesting with increasing urgency. Deep breaths. Calming thoughts. Then carefully maneuver himself out and up with the practiced stealth of someone who has escaped the infirmary on more than one occasion, although in those instances it had always been an overly-concerned brother draped across him and he had another bed to go back to. Bathroom visit successfully concluded it’s another stealthy slide back under the warmth of the covers.

By the time he wakes again the light shining between the curtains is daytime bright. This time Brandon is curled away from him on the far edge of the bed. He should feel grateful that he doesn’t have to slide out from beneath his arms again. He doesn’t feel grateful at all.

***

Wednesday 14:07  
12.10.64 

Alan’s not quite sure how any of them made it onto the slopes before midday but made it they did, although with more than a few sore heads between them. The air is crisp and the rush of it makes him gasp as he soars over the jump, a triumphant laugh catching in his throat.

A premature laugh.

He can’t quite get the board back under him in time, his reactions still slightly dulled, as the ground rushes up and before he knows it he has a face full of snow.

There’s a familiar swoosh and scrape of boards as a small crowd gathers and he raises a half-hearted thumbs up from his sprawled position face down in powder.

“Alan!” There’s a cry of concern that he registers as the now very familiar voice of Emily.

“M’okay,” he mumbles back, rolling onto his back in a way his body really doesn’t seem to like before trying to sit up. The involuntary hiss that escapes as pain lances through his shoulder calls him a liar.

“Med centre, now.” Rachel. Tall, authoritative, but importantly not a brother.

“I’m fine, I honestly don’t need the med centre.” He glares up defiantly, although that’s hard to do from his position at her feet.

“You won’t know if you’re fine until you get checked out. You could have broken a bone, dislocated a shoulder, anything.”

“Trust me, nothing’s broken or dislocated, just bruised at most.”

“And how would you know? Insurance only covers us for injuries reported straight away.”

Her concern for the group insurance policy is touching and he rolls his eyes, “I’ve experienced and treated enough breaks and dislocations to know that this isn’t that.”

“You’re off the slopes until you get checked out.”

“Hey, that’s a little unfair Rach. Give the guy a break, if he says he’s fine, he’s fine.”

Much as he appreciates Brandon stepping up in his defence it only seems to set Rachel’s frown even deeper.

“No can do. My trip, my rules.”

He doesn’t want to be the cause of an argument between Rachel and Brandon, but more than that he doesn’t want to be the centre of attention. Or sat on his ass in the snow any longer. The maneuver to get back to his feet is a little painful but he’s had years of practice at masking minor injuries from smother brothers to let it show, especially after knowing to brace for it.

“Look. How about a compromise?” he offers in an attempt to placate the stormy Rachel. The folded arms suggest she isn’t impressed by a raised eyebrow invites him to continue. “I’ve got a med scan kit in my room. S’probably better than what they have in the med centre here. How ‘bout I go check myself over, would that put your mind at rest?”

“And what about if you need treatment?” There’s a slight softening of attitude but he can tell he’s not out of the woods yet.

“I won’t. But my brother sent me what looks near enough a full trauma kit as a care package. If I need anything extra, trust me I’ll be going straight to the nearest hospital. And I really don’t need to piggy-back off your insurance policy.”

“Fine.” The nod is curt and shows she still isn’t happy about the idea but he takes her agreement at face value. “But you don’t head off alone.”

“I’ll go.” Two voices, almost simultaneous but he picks Brandon over Emily and the pair make a slow way back to the chalet, trying to ignore the two sets of daggers being glared at their retreating backs. 

The chalet is empty when they get back, in stark contrast to the night before, and their footsteps echo up the wooden stairs as they make their way back to their room, or else make a tacky, sticky sound as a missed spill is discovered. The final clean up is going to be hell.

He goes to grab the med scanner out of his bag but finds his way barred by gentle pressure on his chest, Brandon’s hand pushing him back onto the edge of the bed.

“Sit.”

He complies, his body folding at the gentle tone. It only takes Brandon a moment to unearth the med kit, for a start the damn thing takes up nearly a quarter of his bag, trust Virgil to go overboard when it came to preparing for imagined emergencies. Then Brandon’s kneeling on the floor in front of him, just inside slightly parted knees, and hands more gentle than he would have expected are slowly sliding the zip down the front of his suit. He probably should stop him, tell him the scanner works just as well over clothes. He doesn’t. He can’t do much more than sit there, mute, as Brandon peels back the material, exposing bare skin. Goose pimples pepper his skin and his nipples tense. He could pass it off on the change in temperature, his body reacting to the contact with the air, but he knows it's more to do with the fact it’s Brandon peeling the sleeves down his arms, toffee eyes keeping him pinned in place and never breaking contact until he is naked to the waist. 

“So how does this thing work?”

The med scanner is out of its case and in Brandon’s hand.

“Just goes on my chest then you push the button in the middle. I can do it.” 

He holds out a hand to take the scanner but it’s left empty as Brandon opts to place the scanner himself. The fingertips that gently graze his skin around the rim are ice cold and his gasping response elicits a little laugh from the curly haired figure in front of him.

“Sorry. Cold hands, warm heart?”

There’s a soft grin that makes his own heart ache as Brandon makes sure the scanner is firmly in place before pushing the central button to activate it. A ring of lights around the edge of the device begin to illuminate, counting down the time until the scan is complete. 

The scanner chimes and a moment later his wrist comm follows as John forces an entry via the holo link. The single raised eyebrow directed at him asks a thousand questions but the voice thankfully asks just one.

“So....” It’s drawn out impossibly long and Alan just knows the whole scene is being appraised, “medscan?”

“Um, yeah. I just took a tumble on the slopes and the group leader wanted me to get it checked out. S’nothing though.”

He knows there’s no point lying, he never could to John. Anyways, his damn brother is evidently linked in to the med scanner.

“I can see that. The tumble that is.” He doesn’t want to speculate on what else John can see. “Slight strain to the right shoulder, some bruising that might come out over the next day or two and an elevated heart rate. Knowing Virgil he will have packed some anti-inflammatory gel for you so just apply that, take some painkillers if you need them and probably stay off the slopes for the rest of the day too.”

“I do know how to interpret a med scan y’know.” He’s being petulant but right now, with Brandon Berrenger still between his thighs, grinning and waving at one of the few brothers he hadn’t yet met, he could really do with this conversation being over.

“I know, I know” John’s hands are thrown up to placate him. “Just play safe, Alan. None of us want to see you get hurt.”

The hologram winks out and Brandon is up, rummaging through the first aid kit until he unearths the tube of gel buried amongst all the other paraphernalia than Virgil seemed to think was necessary for a few days of winter sports. He holds out a hand, the one on his non-injured side, but the tube is held tantalisingly out of reach.

“N’ah ah. I might not be wearing the right colour but it’s my turn to rescue you. So, where does this need to go?” There’s an accompanying smirk and Alan can tell that Brandon is enjoying this. Teasing, playful, so Brandon.

“Right shoulder, on the back. You only need a dot the size of your little finger nail and that should spread from my neck to pretty much half way down my back.”

And now it’s his turn to be nestled between Brandon’s knees as the Bear kneels on the bed behind him, splay legged. All he can do is close his eyes as feather light touches smooth the gel over his body. He doesn’t even mind that the fingers are chilled. Doesn’t mind anything really because Brandon’s hands are tracing patterns over his bare skin and all rational thought is gone as his mind short circuits.

After far longer than a simple gel application should take, but still sooner than he would like, the hands are gone. The warmth of the body that was oh so close behind him now removed as Brandon heads into the bathroom to wash the gel residue off his hands and a shiver ripples over his body. This time the goose pimples come with a feeling of loss and longing and other feelings that he isn’t quite sure he’s ready to give a name to yet.

*** 

Wednesday 23:03  
12.10.64 

The music thuds but he’s better able to handle it this time. He laughs. He smiles. Tips a drink down a throat knowing that there is a plentiful supply of painkillers in his room for the morning after. 

The alcohol numbs, but maybe not enough. Not his shoulder, his shoulder is fine, just as well with Emily bouncing around beside him. She’s pretty, he supposes, in a classic all-American way. The sort of girl that Scott might have dated in college, the sort of girl Scott had told him about with a nudge and a wink all loaded with expectation. She has perfect teeth, shining eyes and a laugh pitched at just the right level to leave tingles.

It doesn’t leave tingles.

What does leave tingles is the joint she shares with him. Burning smoke filling his lungs and leaving a buzz that sparks in his brain and makes the whole world throb. He probably shouldn’t be, he’s not 21 yet, but if he’s going to get called out for the drink in his hand he may as well step over the line with both feet.

The smoke helps him remember and helps him forget. Allows him to push the boy with ginger curls out of his mind and instead focus on the girl on his arm, the girl he ought to be interested in. Emily makes it easy, she’s hanging on his every word, laughing in the right places even though he’s not sure he’s being funny. He wears her like armour.

He watches the room. Watches the flow of people. And before he realises it he’s watching Brandon with his arms draped around Rachel, his tongue exploring her mouth and a joint in his hand, a perfect mirror to him and Emily. If he focuses he can almost imagine it’s a different tongue slipping between his teeth, different hands ranging up his body as he kisses Emily back, lost in a fantasy where the fingers are colder and feather light.

It takes a moment to realise that Brandon is watching him back. Same blown pupils staring into his soul as he peers past Emily’s ear. Their gazes lock with an intensity that has his body quivering. It’s an automatic response but one that Emily responds to, grinding against him with enthusiasm. He might feel ashamed if his brain wasn’t already on some higher plain where shame couldn’t climb to and instead he moans into her mouth, never breaking contact with the toffee across the room. 

Time slips by, he’s not sure how much, but the chalet is emptying, a call to head into the complex to hit a bar as the initial supplies of drink run low and the party threatens to fizzle out. He doesn’t follow, it’s one thing to drink and smoke in the sanctuary of a private chalet but no amount of fake ID is going to fool a bartender when your face, and age, is known the world over. But neither is he tired, still riding a wave of THC. May as well be useful.

The kitchen is bright, the harsh lights emphasising the mess as he picks up bottles, draining the remnants down the sink ready for recycling. 

He's alone with his thoughts until the moment that he isn't. A figure at his elbow separating the bottles from the cans.

"You fed up of partying already?"

His heart thuds and he can't tell if it's the close proximity of Brandon or the cannabis in his system but he knows it's intoxicating. They're alone, just the distant sounds of people grabbing coats and boots to give any clue that they aren't the last two people in the world.

Their arms are almost touching, sometimes do when they reach for the same bottle. He tries to ignore the sparks it sends up his skin.

"The price of celebrity," he shrugs. "So, you and Rachel? You two look pretty cosy after just 2 days." He's not too sure why he is asking when he's not sure he wants to hear the answer.

"S'not two days though."

He quirks an eyebrow, confused at the sullen tone at odds with the earlier display of affection and pretty sure he hasn't lost track of time that much, prompting Brandon to continue with a heavy sigh.

"She's been latched on since the beginning of semester. But it's...not good. She's possessive as fuck. She pretty much tore me a new one after I didn't sign in to her room. S'why I got the sheet second, some sort of illusion of free will, but she just wants a trophy."

"So why don't you break it off?"

"I... it's complicated."

"Maybe. But what do you want?"

And he’s looking into eyes that are looking back into his with an intensity that makes him shiver, stills his reach for the next bottle, makes his heart stutter.

"I want…"

And those ginger curls, messed up and sweaty from dancing, are tipping closer. The small space closing as he leans in too, until he can feel the warmth across his cheek, his lips, almost taste the peach schnapps that colours Brandon's breath.

"Brandon, get your ass out here." Shrill. Demanding. Female.

The polarity reverses, snapping them apart. Gone in an instant, his eyes blinking as the light is no longer shaded by the boy next to him. Both of them jolting at the shout from the hallway.

And with that he's gone, leaving Alan with nothing but broken glass and a shattered heart.

***

Thursday 13:22  
12.11.64

He’d slept fitfully. Tried to blame it on his shoulder and the come down from the drug so alien in his system, but really he knows it was the loneliness of an empty room. He hadn’t seen Brandon all morning, not until the group was heading once more up the mountain.

They're on the trails rather than the freestyle park today. Emily's suggestion, her reasoning that it would put less strain on his shoulder. He'd agreed. There was no denying her interest in him and he'd gone along for the ride, as it were. Hoped it might take his mind off things that couldn’t be. 

But Emily had led him towards the lifts up the mountain at the same time that Rachel was telling Brandon they were giving the Peace Park a miss that day. It was pure coincidence and one that had Rachel glaring daggers at him but, somehow, the two pairs became a group.

They take a scenic slope and it feels like they have the whole mountain to themselves as they carve tracks through the new fallen snow. Shouts whipped away on the wind, hurtling at breakneck speeds, or else scraping round corners in a deliberate effort to spray snow over each other. Laughs cut through sharp air, a declaration that everyone is having fun.

At every pause there is a possessive hand on his arm and he returns the too-bright smile with one of his own. He can do this. He can be what Emily wants him to be. But the atmosphere is clingy to the point of claustrophobia and he feels a little suffocated despite the vastness of the snow-chilled space around them. At least it seems to be keeping Rachel off his back and Brandon’s. Every joke he laughs at, every smile he returns, she mellows a little and the mood feels a little less strained.

They reach a divide in the trail and Rachel’s deciding the route, exerting her dominance as leader of the pack. She shifts her weight on the board and starts her downward glide, Emily following just a second or two behind. He goes to follow but a hand on his arm stills him, not the giggling, dragging touch of Emily who is already picking up speed and far ahead, but still firm and possessive.

“Not that way. Follow me.”

The smile flashed at him is conspiratorial and he can’t help but go where Brandon leads, turning down the other trail before the girls realise they’ve been ditched. It’s freeing, just the two of them together, and the mountain suddenly looks a whole lot more beautiful, the air more invigorating.

There’s noone around that they know and it’s easy for him to pretend that they are alone; two boys, two boards and the world at their feet. He wonders if this will be the defining memory of his trip. His stomach flutters as he crests a small bump, seeking out the dips and drops that give him a rollercoaster feeling. 

They reach the end of a section and pause for breath, flipping goggles up off of wind burned faces so they can wipe at sweaty foreheads. Laughter cuts through the air as they stand too close to the treeline, getting dumped in falling flakes blown off pine branches by a gust of wind.

Everything glitters and sparkles. 

Brandon’s eyelashes glitter and sparkle, the flakes framing toffee eyes like diamonds. Eyes that draw him in and he wonders if his own pupils are just as blown with not so secret desires. 

This time there is no interruption. No possessive call that makes them jump apart. This time the gap closes entirely. 

It can’t be blamed on one too many drinks, it’s not a joint sending his head into a spin, but the want and need is still there. Chilled, snow-chapped lips brush together, tentative at first but then deeper and more urgent as the fear of rejection passes. He feels a tongue brush his lips and parts them willingly, deepening the kiss into something far more than can be passed off as just two boys messing about. He doesn’t want this to be just messing about. For all he’s tried to shy away from his emotions this feels so right in a way that all the girls at parties never had. Tilting up to kiss that taller form. Surrendering himself. The feel of strong hands on his hips holding him in such a way that he cannot move. He doesn’t want to move. Drowning and flying at the same time; it’s being presented with his blues, it’s piloting a rocket, it’s finding out exactly who he is and what he wants.

Another gust of wind and splat of dislodged snow breaks the spell. 

The slopes ring out to the sounds of laughter that spills a little brighter as two boards race for the foot of the mountain and return to reality. 

*** 

Friday 00:14  
12.12.64

Another party and another heaving press of people. If he thought the Ski Club liked to go hard on the slopes it was nothing compared to the energy they put into partying. After three nights he was getting into it a little easier, the smoke a little less harsh in his throat, the drink sliding down and smoothing out the buzz of the high.

There’s no sign of Brandon, or of Rachel. He wonders what that means. The rejection cuts deep. Up on the mountain it felt like he had bared his soul but now he’s all alone, his tentative steps over the line of friendship clearly meaningless. Of course he’d known Brandon was a player, you only had to look at the miles of reputation that followed him, splashed across the media in glaring technicolour. He’d been a fool to think that their moment was anything different. At least it gives him a chance to reassess, to slide back into the shadows, pretend that nothing had happened and ever would happen between them. It’s not who he is, is it?

Emily is there, blissfully oblivious to the moment that passed on the parallel path, the parallel universe in which he and Brandon split off and forged a new route. Best to leave that moment in the parallel, not of this world. Not part of the reality in which he’s dancing with a pretty blonde, her hands tugging him closer, closing the already infinitesimally small gap until her body is firmly pressed against his.

There’s a murmur in his ear and it’s hard to distinguish the words against the cacophony surrounding them so he just nods. She seems to like the answer even though he doesn’t know what the question was because he’s rewarded with another smile and a lingering kiss before she is slipping away.

Except she isn’t slipping away. The possessive hand keeps tight hold of his as she leads him away from the party and up the stairs towards his room. He follows. There’s no point resisting, he’s only doing what is expected, after all this is the third night of them pressing close in the heated dark, it practically counts as a third date. He can do this.

Behind the now closed door his feelings are as dulled as the music. He still has enough sense to stub the joint out and pop it sately in an empty water glass for later, although not before taking a last, deep drag. There’s no need to burn the place down, he might be high but he's still far from stupid. And later he’s probably going to need that second half.

With his back pressed hard against the wall Emily's hands become more determined. Kisses travel from his lips to his neck, trace along his collar bone and start a downward journey. Hands that had previously contented themselves with his arms, back muscles, ass, are now fumbling with the button of his jeans.

Panic rises. He's tried to play along but his body refuses to comply. There's no stirring in his pants from her ministrations. He can't. He just can't. 

If he could step backwards through the wall he would, but he can't. All he can do is twist out of her grasp, half turning to free himself. Except he isn’t quick enough, those delicately manicured hands have already found him flaccid and unresponsive. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” It’s spat at him through perfect teeth and his stomach twists in horror as he watches the realisation dawn in her eyes. Shame burns as accusations follow. She calls him a liar, and worse, exposes what he's tried to keep hidden as she calls him out on his innermost desires.

A slam of the door and he's finally, mercifully, alone.

He clicks the lock and retreats back into the semi-peaceful sanctuary of the bedroom, glad he’s alone but at the same time wishing he wasn’t. He knows now that he cannot lie. He can’t blame it on the alcohol or anything else he’s taken, she’d seen the truth and slapped him with it. 

“You should have said you were gay.” 

The words replay in his head and all he can do is crawl onto the bed. It provides scant relief from the room that threatens to spin him off balance, knees drawn up as he sits on top of the pillows, leaning against the headboard. Again and again he hears those words, a swirling crescendo that loops over itself until only one word is distinguishable within the noise in his head.

Gay.

He’s never felt so alone in his life. He isn’t used to being alone and so, before he even registers the unconscious action, he’s thumbing the controls of his comm. He doesn’t think to calculate times and timezones, time is a false construct when you live outside the scope of diurnal patterns, and anyway, John always answers. Even so, it still takes him a moment to focus on the figure floating above his wrist, despite him being the one who called the hologram into existence.

“Alan, are you okay?” The voice is softer than the last time they spoke, gentle concern etched into every syllable and he wonders what could have made John so worried.

Oh yeah. Him.

“I’m good. It’s just...can we talk?” 

“Of course.” 

And again, those eyes that see so much are watching him, taking in everything, giving him space. There could be a thousand emergencies going on in the world but John knows this is important and so he leaves him a silence that begs to be filled.

“I think I like someone.”

“Only think?” There’s a raised eyebrow at his tentative admission that confesses nothing.

“Okay, I know I like someone, only-” and he rolls his head back against the wall, tipping it up to stare at the ceiling because he knows John can read him like a book and he’s not sure he wants to see his brother’s reaction to the story being played out, “it’s complicated.” 

There’s a heavy pause and he wants to continue, he really does, but that means saying it out loud and he’s spent too long throwing cold water on the flames for the words to come easily.

“Someone from your ski trip?”

“Yeah.”

“Brandon?”

And that makes him snap his head back from the wall to meet those turquoise eyes that show more curiosity than judgement. John always was far too astute for his own good. Even so he finds himself breaking the gaze, this time dropping his eyes to the bedspread. He gently smoothes out a few creases before giving a single, slow nod of confirmation.

“Does he like you back?”

“He’s got a girlfriend.”

“That’s not what I asked.” 

“I...I think so. I don’t know. Maybe not.”

“There’s obviously something that makes you think he might,” he keeps his eyes averted because while he might have taken the first tentative steps of admission there is no way in hell he is ready to tell his brother about their moment on the mountain, “so I think it’s him you need to be talking to about this.”

John is calm and the small part of his brain that is still holding on to rational thought recognises the rescuers voice, the one pitched to stop people panicking. He wonders if that should worry him. It’s also the voice that gives nothing away about John’s own feelings and that definitely worries him.

“You don’t mind?”

“Mind what?”

“That it’s a...he’s a...a guy?”

He waits, breath bated, for judgement to fall. 

“Why should that make a difference?”

“Scott’s always going on at me about getting a girlfriend.” 

Memories of cheerful holo-calls hit him like a sack of bricks. ‘I hope you’re behaving yourself around the ladies Alan’, ‘Did you meet any nice girls at the social?’, ‘Have you found a girlfriend yet?’. Each conversation punctuated by a Scott Tracy mega-watt smile and the occasional anecdote from his own college days in which girlfriends seemed to feature heavily and he’d just gone along with it, trying to live up to the ideals and expectations that were presented.

There’s indistinct muttering coming from the hologram and the previously passive face is now wearing a frown. At first he thinks John’s ire is directed at him, that John’s realised he’s deviated from the pre-planned story, and it’s only when the phrase ‘heteronormative bull crap’ slips past John’s lips that he realises Scott is the cause of his brother’s upset, not him. It still doesn’t make him feel any better about letting Scott down but at least John doesn’t seem disgusted by him. 

“And then there’s Dad…” It’s barely a whisper because he’s not too sure he wants to remind John of everything their father has said since his return to Earth. How he’d spent the long years dreaming of the future as a way of keeping motivated, keeping alive. Dreams in which wives and grandchildren featured prominently. Because as much as he now thinks he could count on John standing by his side if there were only Scott to deal with, he knows that none of them want to let their father down.

“What makes you think Dad would be upset about this?”

“Because it’s going against everything he’s wanted.”

“It’s possibly not something he’s considered, same as Scott, but that doesn’t mean they would think any less of you. This doesn’t make a difference, not to me, and it won’t matter to the others either when the time comes so you can stop worrying about that. None of us choses how we are made or who we like, but we need to be true to ourselves. Maybe things will work out with Brandon, maybe they won’t, what matters is that you are happy and at the moment you’re far from happy. Is this why you’re hitting the pharmaceuticals?”

And that has him jerking his head back up, the fear coursing through his veins for an entirely different reason now, because John isn’t supposed to know. None of them are. Because for all he might have had his doubts about himself and the world’s perceptions he sure as hell knows the world, and especially the part of it that bears the name Tracy, is going to disapprove of him taking drugs. 

“How did you…?”

“If the joint in the glass behind you wasn’t enough of a clue your pupils are currently wider than Five’s docking tube.” 

Nausea threatens to overwhelm him but John must have sensed his rising panic because that calm voice is back, stilling him and slowing the rising bile.

“Calm down Alan, you’re not the first person I’ve seen get high. Between you and me you aren’t the first Tracy either,” a blue tinged hand is raised towards him before the startled question can spill out, “and no I’m not going to tell you who. The difference is you’re the first one that could jeopardise their space licence over it and that really would cause some upset. You’ve got far greater responsibilities on your shoulders than any of the rest of us had at your age. Now, what have you had?”

He knows there’s no point lying so it’s with total honesty he mumbles “Only cannabis, yesterday and tonight. And alcohol too.”

“Well that I already knew about. It wasn’t just your shoulder injury that showed up in the med scan.” Shame burns slightly that he was still registering a blood alcohol content so many hours later. He wonders if he’ll be questioned further on his habits but John knows him better than to doubt the completeness of his confession. “Now look, I’m going to ground you for the rest of the vacation and then you will be off rota as normal when you’re back at college. It’s up to you what you tell the others when they inevitably ask why but in the official logs it will be on account of your shoulder. I’m not going to tell you how to live your life, you’re old enough to make your own choices, but THC takes about three months to clear your system and your next physical is at spring break in four; you do the math.”

There’s wetness streaking his cheeks and it takes a moment to work out it’s from silent tears he hadn’t realised were spilling. The most he can do is nod as he chokes back a sob and scrubs back the tears. He knows John’s throwing him a lifeline and giving him a free pass he isn’t sure he deserves. 

“Thanks,” it comes out small and wet, “there won’t be anything to find at my physical.”

“I know there won’t. Now maybe try getting some sleep.”

He cuts he comm link with a grateful nod, strips off some layers and crawls underneath the covers. John always did know best.

***  
Friday 10:21  
12.11.64 

It's a loud and insistent knocking that finally drags him back into consciousness. He doesn't know how long they've been banging, unless it's the all too familiar wail of the emergency alarm it takes a lot to wake him once sleep overcomes him, but whoever it is sounds determined. His head is protesting every rap on the wood.

"Go away!" It's muffled into his pillow but loud enough for there to be a pause in the knocking. The respite is short lived though as the knocking soon starts up again.

"M'not boarding today." There's another pause, long enough for him to sink back into the pillows, sure the unwelcome intruder has given up. 

"Al, open up. Please."

Brandon is the last person he wants to see but some rational part of his brain knows that all Brandon's stuff is inside the room so it's really not fair to keep him locked out. 

He drags himself up and over to the door, sliding the lock back so that Brandon can come in before heading straight back to flop face down on the bed. A small part of him registers the soft click of the door being locked again then the mattress shifts, rocking him gently as Brandon sits on the edge of the bed.

"Did you have a good night?"

He doesn't bother answering, just turns his head to face the far wall, feeling the shift as Brandon stretches out beside him. Last night was categorically not good. It feels even worse knowing that Brandon is only just getting back from a night he knows was spent with Rachel. He’d thought that maybe, just maybe, his feelings were reciprocated after their moment on the mountain but then as soon as other people were around Brandon had gone straight back to his girlfriend as though nothing had happened. The silence hangs heavy but Brandon shows no sign of grabbing his outdoor kit and leaving. Instead there is a deep sigh.

"I broke up with Rachel. Told her about you."

He doesn’t quite know what to make of that, but the idea that Brandon thinks there is something worth telling has him shifting again, turning to find toffee eyes gazing back at him from mere inches away. A lump forms in his throat as chilled fingers start to card through his hair, sending delicious shivers down his body. There’s an urge to run, to pull away and say that Brandon is mistaken about him, after all he’s spent a long time running from these feelings. Instead he swallows deeply, and tries to still the trembling caused by the conflicting feelings.

“Told her what?”

“That I can’t stop thinking about you. That I...I want you.”

It’s a simple word, want, but one loaded with desires. There’s an intensity to that stare and it feels like Brandon is undressing him with his eyes.

The inches between them feel too far and he isn’t sure which of them closes the gap but one of them must have done because there’s warm lips on his. This time there is no parallel path, no returning to reality at the bottom of the mountain, because this moment is their reality.

Those fingers, initially so gentle, tangle deep into his blonde locks and he can’t help letting out a little moan at the feeling of Brandon’s nails grazing his scalp. There’s a feeling of total surrender as his tongue dances with Brandon’s in a lip bruising kiss. His own hands pull at Brandon’s hips and the moan turns to a whimper as Brandon grinds against him. There is no faking it for appearances, his body gives away his wants and every touch sparks fire. 

He’s made out with people before but Brandon is the first person he’s actually enjoyed the experience with. He’d always hoped that one of the girls, Emily or those he’d met at parties gone by, would trigger something inside him but they never had, he’d just been going through the motions. This was sending his mind into overdrive in a way girls never had. Every press of lips against his, every touch of strong hands on his body was ecstasy.

As though hit with a shared idea that there are far too many clothes between then he’s pulling at the hem of Brandon’s hoodie at the same time as Brandon tries to peel him out of his tee-shirt. There’s a shared laugh at their failed efforts as too many limbs work at cross purposes. 

Brandon is the first to recover. Moving with surprising dexterity he pushes Alan onto his back, shifting in one fluid motion that sees his top thrown into the corner of the room and himself straddling Alan, bare chested and powerful. A moment later and he’s dipping down, lips seeking out the pulse point in Alan’s neck while his hips roll in a way that has Alan’s brain stuttering.

Everything is simultaneously too much and not enough and it scares Alan quite how much he wants this. He wants to surrender himself completely, nearly does, but he’s spent far too long throwing up walls for that to happen. For all John’s assertions that everything will be okay this is still a big deal for him. Despite the euphoria that has him wanting to stay right there on the bed forever he knows there is a world outside their room and if he is going to step out into it hand in hand with Brandon he needs to know that he’s not just being played. He can’t just be some quick fuck on Brandon’s scorecard.

In parody of the night before he’s twisting again, throwing Brandon off balance so he has to brace an arm against the bed to avoid being tipped off. Brandon rolls to the side and settles next to him but while the blue eyes of last night flashed with anger the toffee eyes pinning him now show only hurt and worry.

“I’m going too fast, aren’t I?”

He is, but it’s not so much the physicality of the encounter that worries Alan, oh no that’s going just fine thank you very much, it’s more the worry of what the end point will be so he really doesn’t know how to answer. He’s still trying to work out the right response when Brandon is rushing back to fill the silence. 

“I’m sorry, I know I can be a bit full on. I just...I’ve been thinking about this for so long and now I’m making a mess of it all.”

Brandon’s got that same downcast look that Alan’s seen once before on an entirely different mountain. A look that never gets shown to the cameras because it tells of a vulnerability the Bear doesn’t like to admit to. 

“You have?” Because while Alan knows his choice of parties this last term has been more than a little swayed by where he knows Brandon will be, it’s a surprise to hear that this is anything other than spontaneous for Brandon.

“Why do you think I invited you on this trip in the first place? I’ve hardly been able to think of anything else since you agreed to come. The last few days have been both amazing and absolute torture. But if this is too much for you…”

His eyes dip for a moment to Brandon’s lips, drawn by a flicker of movement. They’re plumper than usual, still slightly swollen from their recent heated activities, but now Brandon is worrying at his bottom lip, chewing it slightly in nervous anticipation.

“I like you Brandon. I really like you. I don’t want to be just some holiday hook up but I’ve never done anything like this before.” 

The worried chewing stops and the downcast eyes tentatively look up, now coloured with hope.

“You could never be just some holiday hook up.” A palm cups his jaw in a way that sets the tingles off again. “We can take it slow, whatever you’re comfortable with. But I want to be with you, if you’ll have me”

The sincerity of Brandon’s words squeeze his heart. It’s been lonely in the shadows. Absolute torment trying to force himself to be something he’s not. And now Brandon is offering to stand by his side and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can step out into the light. He doesn’t need to be alone.

Their foreheads press together and each cracks a soft smile that says truer than any words ever could that this is what they both want. A silent confession of desires they had each tried unsuccessfully to keep hidden. It’s more intoxicating than any drug and he finds himself tipping in for more, his tongue teasing at the edge of Brandon’s lips which willingly part. It’s more gentle than before but far more meaningful and he finds himself falling into oblivion.

Soft and gentle kisses. Deep kisses. Kisses that come with burning need, skittering hands and rolling hips. He takes them all and commits each one to memory as his body throbs with desires that he no longer attempts to hold in check.

The sky outside shifts through the colours from snow-heavy white back to inky black and still they stay together, cocooned against the world. It’s a day of talking but mostly it’s a day of exploration and of reaching an understanding. And what they both come to understand is that neither wants this day to end. 

***  
Saturday 13:04  
12.13.64

“You ready to go?”

They say that all good things must come to an end and to a certain extent that’s true. Virgil had arrived to whisk him back to the island and in just a few short hours he knows the tropical sunshine will be melting away the memories of snow covered slopes. But, as he looks across at the cluster waiting for the bus back to the city, he knows there’s something he’s got to do first.

“Almost. Just give me a minute.”

He drops his bag and board and strides across the small gap to the other students, trying to draw on confidence he still isn’t quite sure he possesses. He knows there are whisperings, has seen the furtive glances thrown at himself and Brandon, can imagine the rumours that neither of them have deigned to confirm or deny.

And then he’s there, stood in front of Brandon, looking up into toffee eyes that widen then smile back at him. Despite all their time together the day before they had never explicitly defined what they would be to the world outside their private room. Brandon had said it was down to him, that he would go with whatever Alan decided, that he would understand if Alan didn’t want the pressure of publicity. It’s tempting to maintain the facade that they are nothing more than friends but he’s lived a lie for too long. It’s a big step but if he stumbles at least he knows Brandon is there to catch him before he falls.

His hand finds Brandon’s, their fingers tangling together, and the smile in front of him shines a little brighter. A moment more and their lips are crushed together, a hand cupping the back of his head as he melts into a puddle against Brandon. Seconds, minutes, he doesn’t know because time seems to lose all meaning, he just knows it’s all too soon before they are pulling apart again. But the statement has been made, a clear declaration of I am yours and you are mine. This is who he is and with Brandon by his side he feels like he can take on the world.

“So, I’ll see you in January.”

“Yeah, you will, although maybe I’ll try and head your way a bit sooner seeing as I’m currently mission grounded.” And that earns him an even bigger smile, one that fuels him enough to finally break away seeing as there is a brother waiting to take him home. A brother that he knows is watching slightly wide eyed at the whole proceedings.

To give Virgil his due he doesn’t raise the issue of his display until they are out of earshot of the other students but he knows it’s coming.

“So, that’s new. You and Brandon, huh?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, unwilling to meet the gaze that he knows is directed upon him, “me and Brandon.”

“Looks like we maybe ought to swing via a drugstore on the way home then.” He can tell by the lightness of the tone that Virgil has no problem with this development in his relationship status and that comes with a sense of relief but the last thing he wants is his brothers speculating on the finer details of what he and Brandon might be doing.

“Virgil!!”

“Just sayin’. I mean, Scott’s gonna need some hair dye after he hears that you two are together.”

The mention of Scott has him faltering slightly and Virgil must have picked up on it because there’s a reassuring hand on his shoulder, turning him to look up into eyes that are an entirely different shade of brown to the ones he’s just left but still filled with love, albeit of a different sort.

“It’s going to be okay, Alan. He’s just going to be happy you’ve found someone who makes you happy. honestly. He’s more likely to be upset you bust your shoulder.”

His fear might have been misplaced, worrying about what those who mattered most to him would think, but it had still been there. For all John’s assurances that everything would be fine there was still a part of him that had been afraid. But Virgil had taken it all in his stride and given his assurances that Scott would too, and if anyone could predict how Scott would feel about something it was Virgil. 

The relief is palpable and his already floating heart skips a little at the unruffled acceptance of him and his boyfriend.

His boyfriend. He likes the sound of that.


End file.
